


Walk Walk Fashion Baby

by HmmYesIDoIndeedWriteOnOccasion



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: (It is Zim teaching Dib), Dib is 20 here, Dib is broke despite technically being rich, Gaz is beyond this mortal realm, Learning to Dance, M/M, Membrane hates his coworker called john, Mutual Pining, Shopping Trip, Unresolved Romantic Tension, accidental compliments, fancy party, he is not responsible with his money
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28009797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HmmYesIDoIndeedWriteOnOccasion/pseuds/HmmYesIDoIndeedWriteOnOccasion
Summary: Dib knows this script well, and could probably recite it on the spot if prompted. What heexpectsMembrane to say is ‘so I'm making sure foodio and clembrane are okay with preparing the meals while I'm gone for an indefinite amount of time! Stay out of trouble!’ and then leave.What Membrane saysinstead, however, is “- so I thought, to encourage your pursuits of Real Science, you might like to come!”In which Dib has been invited to his Father’s Fancy Science Work Party, and needs Zim’s help. Pining ensues.AKA Zim is a fashion diva and I needed an excuse to write that into a fic!
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. I want your love, and I want your revenge

**Author's Note:**

> I should probably put here that this work is definitely going to be zadr. So, if that isn’t your cup of tea, feel free to move along!

While Dib doesn’t enjoy the long and awkward silences that come with the family dinners, occurring every month or so (or so being that Professor Membrane tends to have other plans more often than not), he does enjoy actually seeing his whole family in one place. It’s a rare occasion, but he has to remind himself that it’s the best they can probably do. It’s probably fine.

Dib is reminding himself of this during one of those painful stretches of silence, in which they all eat slowly, heads down, to distract from the fact that neither Dib nor Gaz know how to actually talk to their father. Gaz, at least, has her game slave to make it _seem_ as if she’s busy.

Dib knows better. Gaz hears all.

Membrane clears his throat, and someone breathes a sigh of relief. Dib can’t tell if it was Gaz or himself.

“I do enjoy having dinner all together, as a family!” the professor says for the third time, a forced smile creeping into his voice.   
“But I should probably tell you about next week, children. There is going to be a work party-”

Dib knows this script well, and could probably recite it on the spot if prompted. What he _expects_ Membrane to say is ‘so I'm making sure foodio and clembrane are okay with preparing the meals while I'm gone for an indefinite amount of time! Stay out of trouble!’ and then leave.

What Membrane says _instead_ , however, is “- so I thought, to encourage your pursuits of Real Science, you might like to come!”

Gaz actually looks up from her game slave, eyes wide, for a whole 10 seconds.  
Dib takes a moment to remember to close his jaw and school his expression from one of pure _shock_ , and eloquently says “uh. Uhm. Yeah! Sure?”

“Good! It’s formal, so I expect you to dress as such!”

Nothing more is said, and they finish the rest of their dinner in mildly stunned silence. 

Professor Membrane says “Well, that concludes our meal!” As he does at the end of all their family dinners, rises from his chair, and descends into his basement lab. 

He probably won’t emerge for days. Dib has to wonder, where does he get his food from? Surely there’s food in there? But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen his father restock…  
Well, no point wondering. Some things are simply unanswerable.

He takes a glance at Gaz who, upon sensing someone looking at her, meets Dib’s eyes.  
Both stares are equally as confused about what has just happened.

“So. Fancy Science Work Party in a week, huh?” Dib says, trying to sound casual, but ultimately failing.

“I need to go see if there’s anything in my wardrobe that says ‘Fancy Science Work Party’ and not ‘Funeral’. I’ll keep you posted.” As she stands to head to her room, Gaz punches him in the shoulder. “Nerd.”

“Hey. Ow.” Gaz chuckles ominously, and soon Dib is alone at the dining room table.

“I should probably see if I can find something that doesn’t have a cryptid on it,” Dib says to the empty room, also getting out of his chair.

It isn’t until he’s almost finished digging through his closet that Dib realises any fancy clothes he may have previously had (and remembered having), he has long outgrown.

He forgets he’s almost 20 sometimes.

Dib sighs, thinking that he may as well make do with what he has.

He rummages around some more. “I think I have a few turtlenecks in here…”

A few minutes later, after some frenzied mumbling and digging through his dark abyss of a closet, Dib thinks he has the perfect outfit.

So he moves to pull out of his phone, planning on contacting someone he knows he can count on to be brutally honest.

A message chime sounds from somewhere to the left of him, and Dib has a moment of confusion before he lets out a shrill squeal.  
“What are you doing, stink brain?”

Dib, after choking on his own spit and then trying to not have a heart attack, remembers that he forgot to close the window.

Zim cackles, nearly causing him to fall back out of Dib’s window. He heaves through with the help of his PAK legs and flops onto Dib’s floor, still giggling to himself.  
He at least has the sense to be wearing his disguise, despite it being 11:00 at night.

“I got you good!” Zim teases, bursting into another fit of giggles.  
He smirks at this. Stupid bug.

“I was about to call you, actually.” Zim’s chortling stops abruptly. His fake eyebrows raise, before lowering into a suspicious scowl.

“Why?”

“Well,” Dib says, gesturing to the chosen outfit laid out on his desk chair, “I wanted to get your opinion on this.”

Zim shoves Dib on his way to the chair (and Dib is 100% certain that wasn’t an accident), and stands in front of the clothes haphazardly thrown over it, hands on hips.

“Well…” He says, “... They are certainly clothes.”

“That’s it?!”  
“Since when!” Zim raises his voice a whole octave higher, pointing accusingly at Dib, “Did the Dib care?!”

He only has the energy to give Zim a tired, deadpan look.  
There is a beat of silence, in which Zim does not change expressions or pose, and neither does Dib.

“Since you became the most passionate fashion diva in school?”

Zim splutters indignantly, chokes, coughs for about a minute or so, and then shrieks: “ _That is to blend in with human society!!!_ ”

Gaz shows up in Dib’s doorway a second later, much like a vengeful spirit would, and makes a vague threat involving both their kneecaps as well as a bowl of pudding.  
She disappears without a trace.

Zim, quieter now, crosses his arms. “I have no passions besides conquering this _ball of filth_ for the glory of the Irken race.”

Another moment of still silence.

“Put on the outfit, Zim needs to know if those colours work together or not.”

Dib, to be perfectly honest, cannot be bothered. But he goes to the closet to get changed anyway, yelling “The turtleneck is black, black goes with everything!”

He can vaguely hear Zim scoff on the other side of the door. 

Idiot lizard.

He comes out of the closet a moment later, looking even more tired.

“It is currently…” A quick glance at his alarm clock confirms the time. “11:35. Tell me if it gives off ‘Fancy Science Work Party’ vibes or not, and get out. I want to actually get some sleep.”

Zim blinks once, twice, and then asks as if genuinely confused “in what way is a turtleneck and a pair of skinny jeans fancy?”

“It’s, uhm, actually the only relatively formal outfit I own?”

“Forget my earlier questioning tone, that outfit is in no way fancy, and you need to wear something else to this…”

“Fancy Science Work Party,” Dib supplies, feeling defeated.

“That.”

Dib passes a weary hand over his face. “What else would you suggest I wear?”

“Go to one of your Earth stores,” Zim says slowly, as if speaking to a toddler, “and purchase something.”

Now, Dib is the son of a billionaire who would rather give his children an allowance that _seems_ okay, and then leave them to their own devices. This allowance being about $1000 a month.

Which would be a perfectly reasonable allowance from which Dib should, _reasonably_ , be able to purchase fancy clothes for this party.

Dib had spent all of his allowance on tech components, with which he plans to build something amazing to foil a few of Zim’s plans with.

Which is worth it in the long run, Dib thinks, and asks “will I have to pay for them?”

“Consider it a mercy, on my part, for the human race not having to look at your ugly head in those ugly clothes.”

So Zim is going to pay then. That’s fine. Dib tries to ignore the insult, too tired to fight properly anyway.

“We meet here at 3:00pm tomorrow. If you are asleep, I will present your guts to your sister-unit so that I may be spared when she inevitably turns this universe to dust beneath her feet.”

Dib laughs good naturedly, slaps his palm to the center of Zim’s face, and pushes him out the window.  
Dib, not bothering to change into pyjamas, settles into bed as the muffled irken cursing fades.

Dib is awake (barely) at 3:00 in the afternoon, as promised, and notes that when Gaz walks past his door and peers in she looks almost disappointed. Zim will not be disemboweling him today, if he can help it.

The alien shows up two minutes late and, instead of parking his voot disguised as a car in front of Dib’s house and waiting like a normal human being (then again, Zim is none of those things), he marches out of it and right up to Dib’s window, before using his PAK legs to scurry in.

Despite the day being of mild temperature (one that especially does _not_ warrant a hoodie), Zim is wearing the hot pink hoodie Dib hasn’t seen him without in weeks anyway.

“Gir is in the voot SCREAMING, we need to go _now._ ”

“I… Know how to walk out of the house and down my driveway, Zim. Why didn’t you wait in the voot? Like, why crawl in through my window?”

Zim’s eye twitches once, twice, then he says “did Zim, in all his infinite wisdom, not _say to meet up here._ ”

“That means same _area_ , Zim, I wasn’t expecting you to come in through my windo-”

It is Dib’s turn to be pushed out of the window, but the reality of the situation only catches up to him when he is halfway out of said window.

He doesn’t remember screaming, but his mouth is agape anyway, and he thinks he might be screaming, but isn’t quite sure, and now Dib distantly wonders how he hasn’t broken something (or, for that matter, collided with the footpath) yet.

Ah. Dib, an inch off the ground, grapples with Zim’s PAK leg to face the grinning bastard.

He is dropped unceremoniously to the concrete, wills his now-wobbly knees to work for him, and struggles to the voot while Zim snickers behind him. Dib is considerably jarred when he opens the passenger door to a Honda Fit and is met with the interior of the voot.

He should have expected as much, but still.

They drive away, and for the entirety of the trip both Zim and Dib are silent. Gir, however, much to Zim’s displeasure, was unable to be consoled. 

The trip is 10 minutes. Gir screams the entire time.

He screams about fish, monkeys, and an assortment of popular board games before going silent the second he exits the voot. Gir, Dib thinks, also stepping out of the vehicle (and feels a little sick for it, considering the voot is twice the size of what it is disguised as), is to Zim what Gaz is to Dib. 

Except for the fact that Gir (hopefully) wouldn’t threaten to scoop out one’s brain with a rusty spool and use the empty skull as a bowl for his cereal.

Now that Dib thinks about it, the original analogy was stupid, and the only real similarities are the sibling dynamics (which don’t even match Dib and Gaz’s anyway, so how did he even land with that thought in the first place?).

Wandering through the large automatic doors that guard the shopping complex, Dib notices that It’s a quiet day, and thanks the universe for this trip requiring minimal social interaction with anyone other than Zim.

It takes an hour for Dib’s feet to hurt.

He spots another formal store and, perking up, makes a beeline for it. He knows better than to point it out to Zim, now. Not after the last 6 times. The bug will follow him or be left behind.

Dib came here for free formalwear, and by any and all higher powers _he is going to buy some._

His stomach drops when he feels three claws close around his wrist, hearing Zim hiss right next to his ear “ _those suits are ugly._ ”

Dib is so close to sobbing. His feet. His poor, poor feet. Thus far they had encountered six, scratch that, _seven_ formal wear stores and none of them met the standards of Fashionista Zim.

Gir even had the liberty of sleeping, curled up, in Zim’s hoodie pocket the entire time. Not that his metal feet would be hurting anyway, but still, Dib is jealous.

He has all but given up hope, making the necessary preparations for saying goodbye to his corporeal form (because if Zim doesn’t stop soon he is going to _die here_ ), when Zim finally spots a store that meets all fifteen of his standards.  
Dib knows what these standards are, because Zim made a list and gave a printed copy to him.

He is tugged-half-dragged to a chair, and Dib for the second time this trip nearly weeps (this time with pure relief). Maybe he won’t die after all, because this store has a _chair_.

He gives his aching, almost numb feet a rest while Zim flits from shelf to shelf, sometimes picking up a suit, muttering something, only to drop it again (not before folding it perfectly, because he is, at heart, very tidy. Dib thinks he sees tears of joy on an employee’s face). 

It’s almost interesting watching Zim so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice being watched. 

Gir stirs a little in his pocket, and Zim reaches down to scratch behind the ears of the dog costume before spotting another suit to examine closely. His face brightens and, snatching the suit off the shelf, says with glee “Zim has found a worthy suit!”

Dib can’t get up yet. He can’t. He doesn’t even know if he _has_ feet anymore. He certainly can’t _feel_ them.

Zim, holding the suit up to Dib, dims a bit. “Nevermind!” He yells over at the human, who still hasn’t moved an inch (and probably couldn’t if he wanted to).

Dib doesn’t even realise he’s started to doze off until Gir jumps, squealing, right into the center of Dib’s chest.

Winded, he attempts to remove the robot, and ultimately fails. Dib resigns himself to his fate as Gir Holder, and asks Zim (who he hadn’t realised was standing in front of him, _how long has Zim been there just staring at him-_ ) “found anything yet?”

“Yes,” Zim says, proudly presenting Dib with a small pile of clothes, “Zim has found a few options.”

Dib eyes the assortment of suits and undershirts warily, then eyes his legs warily, and wills them to work before attempting to stand. He falls, tries again, and snatches the clothes from a snickering Zim. 

Gir is still attached to him, squealing with an intensity that definitely should have smashed Dib’s glasses by now. Zim manages to coax the robot back into his hoodie pocket, casting nervous glances at the other shop patrons who, in typical human fashion, haven’t looked their way at all since they entered the store.

The first outfit is given a shake of the head.

The second outfit is also given a shake of the head, as well as a muttered “Zim makes no mistakes, he simply didn’t expect the formalwear to look so terrible. That is all,” more to himself than to Dib.

While putting on the third and final one, Dib wonders why he even cares anyways. He could just choose any old plain black suit, and leave.  
Zim’s his ride back, Dib reasons as he buttons up the navy blue blazer, and it would suck to have to put his legs through any more walking than is necessary. He should probably just keep the alien happy so he can go home and hibernate for three days.

That’s why he’s doing this.

When Dib walks out, feeling very pessimistic, he expects Zim to shake his head and hiss out another excuse.

He gives a satisfactory nod instead, accidentally letting a “that does bring out your eyes. Looks good on you” slip.

Zim freezes. While he usually pays what he says out loud little to no mind, this thing feels different. Like he shouldn’t have said it.

 _A compliment_ , his mind hisses. _Disgusting_.

_Better to just ignore it._

So Zim coughs, pointedly avoiding the look Dib gives him, and says “we’re getting the suit.”

He marches away, leaving Dib in stunned silence.

 _Maybe_ , he thinks in confused wonder, _maybe Zim is sick._

Because in all the years Dib has known him, through fights and shaky half-truces (much like the one they are in now), Zim has never been known to give genuine compliments.

So. This is pretty odd.

“Then, uhh, i’ll just…” Dib says to himself, stepping back into the changing room.  
He emerges with the very dapper outfit in hand, and spots Zim. Somehow Zim also notices Dib, despite not even looking at him.

Zim holds out his hand. Dib puts the clothes into Zim’s hands. Zim pays. It _should_ be a normal interaction, but something is wrong. The Compliment, as Dib has taken to calling it, has obviously bothered Zim. But it wasn’t a big deal. Accidental. Zim probably didn’t even mean it.

He doesn’t know why that stings, or why Zim’s sudden quiet also stings. 

The awkwardness in the car on the way to Dib’s house stifles any noise, and even Gir doesn’t make a sound. In fact, Dib thinks he’s powered down until he checks the back seats and finds him sitting obediently, kicking his legs this way and that, entirely consumed by the menial task.

Dib _still_ doesn’t understand why everything feels odd and completely awkward, until he steps through the door, and the first thing Gaz says from where she’s set up camp on the living room couch is “enjoy your date?”

At this, something clicks into place.

Oh. _Oh._

Face red, Dib goes through the works, screaming an outraged “How DARE you!!! I would NEVER fall for the likes of _ZIM!!!”_

But his heart isn’t in it, and Gaz, in all her wisdom and infinite knowledge, seems to notice this.

“You okay, idiot?” Gaz hasn’t looked up from her console at all this entire conversation, but Dib suddenly feels the uncomfortable weight of someone with their full attention on him.  
He kind of hates it.

So, like a reasonable brother, he yells “ _I ate the last slice of pizza goodbyeGaz,”_ and sprints up the stairs, knowing that once the information has sunk in, he is going to be in a world of physical and psychological pain.

So, relationship crisis averted. Point to Earth.

As Dib, a block away, starts to feel angry battering against his door and thinks _Ohgodthiswasamistake,_ Zim is having the same relationship crisis Dib has so skillfully avoided (which can be linked to the fact that while Dib has a vengeful sister with powers beyond mortal understanding, Zim has Gir, who has been sitting in front of the TV watching his monkey show since they got home.)

 _It’s horrible,_ thinks Zim, lying on the floor looking up at the ceiling lights that remind him of stars, _how the suit actually looked good on him._

 _Unfair, Disgusting. Awful. Cruel._ Zim sits there for another half hour, listing off the various synonyms for ‘bad’ and ‘ugly’ his PAK supplies him, in various languages, when he eventually runs out of words.

So he switches to Irken, hissing out sounds that can only be described as buglike.  
In the Irken language there is no shortage of words that can be translated back to the English equivalent of ‘bad’, and there are even more words that can be translated back to insults. Therefore, Zim sits on his kitchen floor, hissing hideously to himself for another 45 minutes before he is satisfied that he has cursed Dib’s name sufficiently.

Then he gets up, makes himself something so sweet that any human’s tongue would burn off upon ingestion, and decides to put this whole thing behind his superior Irken self. Really, Dib-filth isn’t worth thinking about.

But he obviously is, because Zim’s mind keeps wandering to him.

More specifically, in that suit. _Very, uh, what’s the word? Dapper. Very dapper. Stupid. Ugly._ He begins listing off words again, until Gir shushes him, gesturing pointedly to the TV. “The monkeys’ll hear youuu!!”

Zim groans, shovelling some caramelized ice-cream coated in sugar into his mouth, sliding onto the floor again.

It is currently 1am, and Dib has so many tabs open that the computer is perpetually flashing a worried face in the corner. Dib is too consumed by the cryptid hunting rabbit hole he has wandered into, thinking _It’s fine. I don’t need a working computer. I need answers._

But Dib does need a working computer, because it shuts off a moment later, emitting concerning amounts of smoke. He lets out a frustrated yell, jumping out of his chair and making helpless, frustrated gestures at his computer.

It does not respond.

Gaz materialises in his doorway, and Dib yelps, remembering the various curses she had inflicted upon him hours earlier. He has no doubt that every single one of them would have been eternally binding, if he didn’t promise to buy her 4 pizzas for dinner.  
Gaz seems fine now, standing where his door should be (ripped off its hinges), throwing a concerned glance his way. “What _happened_ to your computer?”

“I was just researching Gef the Mongoose, Gaz, doing the necessary calculations and background research to prove well and truly that Gef existed!”

He takes Gaz’s blank stare and accompanying silence to mean ‘do tell me more!’ and so he continues to babble. 

“I’ve been researching every single kind of hallucigen available at the time,” Dib raves, pacing, “and have not been able to link one back to Isle of Man, or more specifically, Cashen’s Gap. There _is_ a nearby river close to the house the Irving family lived in, and that _could_ have been the family’s water source, but that doesn’t explain the sightings branching outside the farmhouse! _Or_ the fact that in the decades since the sightings were reported, not a single person came forwards about it!! _Decades, Gaz!!”_

Dib looks crazy.

Gaz continues to stare, then says, slowly, “I think you should go to sleep now, this has gotten a bit out of hand…”

“ _They can’t prove that he didn’t exist, Gaz!”_

“Uhm. Okay, so, back to sleep…”

“ _I am not sleeping until I get answers.”_

Gaz passes a weary hand over her face, a habit she picked up from her brother, and says “I think i’m going to have to force this one.” More to herself than Dib.

Dib doesn’t realise he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up, at 11:00pm the following night, and says to himself “Damn, she knocked me out again.” It’s surreal falling asleep when it’s dark and waking up when it’s dark, only earlier, so Dib decides to fall asleep again before it starts to freak him out.

He then wakes up at 3:00pm the next afternoon and, feeling well rested, rises from his cocoon of blankets and various pillows to steal a slice of Gaz’s pizza. Sure, the pizza was in apology for eating the last slice of the last apology pizza he bought her, but it’s tax for being such an awesome big brother.

Every single bone in his body cracks hideously with every movement, and he can barely make it down the stairs.  
Gaz is on the couch, as usual, so if Dib is quiet maybe he can…

“I wouldn’t, unless you feel like dying a horrible death today.”

“Good morning to you too, Gaz.”

“ _Afternoon_ , grease-for-brains. Enjoy your hibernation?”

“I’m fairly certain you used your powers to keep me asleep for that long.” A pause. “But I actually did, thanks.”

Gaz nods ominously, turning her full attention back to the game slave in her hands, and Dib groans when he realises that there is no cereal left.

Just. One. Slice.

He jumps when Gaz growls furiously, and decides that he will either go out to the shops to get some proper breakfast, cobble together something, or die of starvation.  
No pizza for him, no matter the outcome.


	2. I want your love, I don’t want to be friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Dib and Zim have the same crisis (they don’t know that) and dancing happens. Gaz has powers that we mortals cannot comprehend.

It isn’t _technically_ a family dinner, in which all members of the family are present, _in person,_ but Dib will take what he can get.

“How are the preparations for the party going, children?” Professor Membrane says, breaking the silence. “I really am glad that you accepted!”

Dib and Gaz both mumble something about finding fancy clothes, and Membrane perks up. “Oh, you’ve found formal clothes! Very responsible, children! You’ve been preparing for the dances as well, I expect?”  
Dib chokes, and Gaz’s hands slip off the game slave (which makes a character-death-sound a second later). 

“The, uhh, the _what?”_

“The dancing! You…” his eyes narrow suspiciously, a tone of disappointment slipping into his voice, “... Have been practicing the waltz, like I asked? There _will_ be dancing, or so I've been told. It’s supposed to be a party in honour of The Most Accomplished Scientists In The World.” 

He looks tired, now, “they said it was supposed to be ‘time off work’, and I said to John, I told him, what is that supposed to mean? So he said, ‘come on, Membrane, it’s for fun!’ As if I didn’t know what ‘fun’ is!” He finishes his rambling with the clenching of his fist in front of his face, muttering “that John, i’ll show him…”

Dib and Gaz have taken this ramble as the opportunity to telepathically conspire against the forces that are obviously trying to take them out (in the ‘cosmic hitman’ sense).

They decided about 30 seconds into Membrane’s rant that they were going to _pretend_ that Membrane had told them about the dancing, and that _of course_ they’d been practicing!

So when their father’s face brightens up, fist unclenching, to end the call, they tell him “don’t worry, of course we have! Our waltz is very good, and we have been practicing lots, did we mention we’ve been practicing?”

Most sources will claim that the Professor is both wise and Intelligent. When he is tired and stressed about a big social event he, however, only falls into the latter category.

Therefore, seeing nothing at all suspicious with this, Membrane says “well, that concludes our meal!” And hangs up on his call.

Both siblings breathe a sigh of relief at this, and that relief soon fades into panic.

“ _Dancing_ , Dib, _dancing_. I haven’t danced since my quince! It has been _years, Dib.”_

“I haven’t danced since your quince either!”

“What about prom?”

“ _I fought Zim for the entirety of prom, Gaz, there was no time for sipping some punch nor was there time for dancing.”_

Then they both scream with frustration, heads in their hands.

Gaz stands up suddenly, shouting (with at least three voices, though Dib is sure there is a fourth in there somewhere), something about Youtube tutorials.

She sprints to her room and Dib is once again left alone at the dinner table.

He has all of tomorrow and then the next day, up until the party, to learn how to dance the waltz.  
He gets out of his chair, adamant that he is going to blow this out of the water. It’s the waltz, how hard can it be?

It isn’t until Dib is halfway through his sixth replay of the first couple of steps, with his life-sized human skeleton replica named Jim as a partner, that he is no longer adamant.

It’s 11:00 at night again, he needs tomorrow for practicing, but he can’t waste time with sleep. Dib sinks to his floor, wanting to cry, feeling time run out with every second spent not dancing.

His phone lights up, on the other side of his room, and Dib barely musters up the energy to slide across his floor to retrieve it. How is he this tired, after waking up from a 26 hour nap 8 hours ago?

_ZIM HATES YOU NEVER FORGET THAT!!!!!!!!!_

Dib finds himself smiling completely without permission. Ugh. _Ugh_. He thumbs in a quick _Sure, bug, I won’t. Going to sleep now, coming over to your place tomorrow. Dad says we need to learn the waltz. Teach it to me or perish._

He sighs in satisfaction and, knowing that Zim will inevitably suffer tomorrow, rolls over to peacefully ignore the messages blowing up his phone and go to sleep.

He wakes up at 7:00am, and feels surprisingly well rested. Whatever Gaz infused his blood with while he slept really did the trick!

And then, eyes still closed, Dib feels a weight on the edge of his bed where a weight is not normally. He throws his arm out to push the offending _thing,_ whatever it is, off his bed. The thing hisses, and Dib’s first thought, instead of ‘alien that regularly hisses at me’ is _snake?!_

Because of this, he squeals and bats at the thing with a pillow. 

Which wouldn’t be the smartest move, even if the thing were a snake instead of just Zim.

Zim, stony faced, hisses threateningly again. “ _Zim will not be teaching you ANYTHING._ ”

Coming down from his adrenaline high, Dib narrows his eyes. 

“ _Zim WILL be teaching me,”_ he mockingly hisses.

This results in a stare-off that Zim, surprisingly, fails. His face is an odd green when he looks away, and Dib has to wonder again if the Irken is sick.

Zim is really struggling, not that he would admit that, even to himself.

Zim is not accustomed to _friendship._ The few Irkens he’s met may have been his friends in different circumstances (circumstances in which Zim did not betray them almost immediately), but it just didn’t work out. And therefore this new _friendship_ with Dib is difficult to navigate. They’d only had that conversation a year and four months ago, the anniversary of their truce/friendship being January the 1st. 

Thinking that Dib looks beautiful is a horrible thought, but it has persistently made a nest in Zim’s head and refuses to leave.

But, knowing no different, Zim assumes the feelings one might usually call _romantic_ to be _platonic,_ which causes several other mixed up feelings.

All in all, Zim is an emotional mess (the most prevailing emotion being _confused_ ), and has been since even before he saw Dib in a suit, looking all handsome. 

_Which is_ , Zim thinks to himself, fully aware of the silence that has stretched for well over a minute, _quite a hideous thought to have._

“Uhm,” Dib says, poking Zim in the forehead a little harder than is perhaps necessary, “I kinda need to learn this _quickly.”_

Zim’s PAK is whirring a bit loudly, and before Dib can look over the alien’s shoulder to check on it he is being pointed at aggressively.

“Finally!” Zim says, throwing his head back to cackle, “You recognise Zim’s superior talent at anything!”

Zim stays there for a few seconds too long, unmoving, waiting for Dib to retort.

Instead, he says “whatever teaches me the waltz the fastest,” swinging his legs over the bed.   
Zim doesn’t know what the waltz is. He barely knows how to dance, only having seen humans partake in the activity. 

He, still pointing at where Dib used to be, searches his PAK’s data banks for ‘the waltz’.  
 _This looks slow and boring, is the first thought in Zim’s head, closely followed by why are the humans so close?_

Zim then realises with mounting horror that he and Dib are going to be that close and, pulling on the antenna hidden beneath his wig, tries to muffle his confused screaming with the pillow closest to him.

Dib is having a similar crisis while brushing his teeth. Instead of confusion, however, there is only a cold, cold dread.

And finality. He will learn this dance to avoid messing up in front of his Father. _Even if that means dancing with Zim for a little bit._

Dib, after spitting into the sink, looks up and nods to his reflection.  
He shoots finger guns at himself in the hopes that it might give him confidence, like in the movies.

Dib then decides to never do that again.

Upon opening the door to Zim’s house (they were going to learn how to dance where they were, but Gaz started up a storm indoors because she was having trouble with a few steps), Dib is met with Gir sobbing. “Maryyyyy…” He cries, attaching himself to Dib’s leg. “I thought you was deeeeead…”

Already used to Gir’s shenanigans, Dib and Zim walk fully inside (Dib waddling more than walking).

“Why… would I be dead?”

Gir stops crying, brightening up. “I don’t know!” The robot then hops off Dib’s leg to run around the base frantically. Zim shrugs when Dib looks to him for any explanation. He supposes that’s fair; Gir is unexplainable.

They stand facing each other in the middle of Zim’s living room for just long enough for it to be awkward.

Dib politely coughs into his fist. “So are we going to… Dance? Or…”

“YES!” Zim yells triumphantly (though what he is triumphant over is a mystery to Dib), “ _Let us commence the dancing.”_

And then Dib is swept into a waltz and oh, has Zim danced before? He is way too good to have never danced before.  
And the longer they dance, the more questions he has. _Is there a metronome in your PAK? He wants to ask. How did you learn to dance like this?_

It’s a little awkward because Zim comes up to Dib’s shoulders, but it works.   
As much as continually stepping on Zim’s feet works, anyway.

After about the eighth time, Zim yells, dropping Dib’s hands with enough force to make them swing. 

_“You are impossible.”_

Dib squawks, indignant. “You are supposed to be _teaching me._ Maybe you’re just a bad teacher!”

Now it's Zim's turn to be indignant. He gasps, snatching his hand to his chest, and Dib wants to laugh because _oh my god he looks like he’s in a soap opera._

“Fine then!” Zim sniffs, turning away. “Zim will not be teaching the Dib.”

Dib freezes, already imagining the look Membrane might give him upon learning that he had not, in fact, learnt how to waltz.  
Which sucks, because Membrane was the one who forgot to mention that important detail, but Dib digresses.

So he straightens up, sighs, and says “Okay, Zim, that was mean of me. Can we _please_ keep dancing?”

To which Zim whirls around a little too quickly, saying “Yes!” a little too loudly, for it to sound anything other than enthusiastic. Which gives Dib mental whiplash, if he’s being honest.

Zim notices this, clearing his throat, and mutters something about ‘ _stupid humans’_ too fast for Dib to catch.

Then he’s swept away again, and Dib thinks he might be catching on.  
His steps definitely feel a lot lighter, anyway.

Dib gets home at 9:00, and feels lucky that they don’t have a family dinner tonight. Dib might have missed it, and he wouldn’t have even realised. Gaz has migrated to the living room and, upon seeing Dib walk in through the front door, raises her eyebrow.

She offers no explanation regardless of Dib’s prodding, and he has to give up.   
She seems to be doing pretty well for herself, moving in time to the music she's playing, and Dib only feels a slight shudder in the Earth whenever she misses a step. 

He feels like a proud big brother. 

“You missed a step,” he says loudly, and laughs when he barely dodges a pillow hurled his way.

Dib microwaves himself some frozen stir fry, and while he’s eating contemplates how odd it is to feel so lonely when he’s lucky his whole family is even in the same house at the same time.

Despite _finally_ getting the steps right before coming back home, and despite _finally_ getting invited somewhere his father is going to be, Dib feels hollow the entire time he’s getting ready for bed.

It thaws out the moment Dib hits his pillow, and he falls into a deep sleep.  
Dib dreams he’s spinning.

He wakes up 11 hours later, and immediately heads out the door to Zim’s house.

He calculated this while getting dressed, and brushing his teeth, and brushing his hair, and _when did he care so much how he looked._ If Dib spent another five hours at Zim’s house, it would then be 2:00. Then he could go home and practice socialising, as well as get all fancied up, for the remaining three hours.

All in all, brilliant time management on Dib’s part.

Zim obviously isn’t expecting Dib, because when he strolls in through the front door the house is in chaos. Pieces of metal litter the floor, and he might have been afraid that Zim had snapped and dismantled Gir had the robot not strolled past carrying a plate of waffles.

So. Consider Dib confused.

He wanders through the upper level of the base and decides that Zim is not amongst the rubble, or anywhere, for that matter.  
Probably in his lab or something. 

_Stupid bug._

Dib pulls up a chair and sits at the kitchen table, and waits for half an hour before being bored enough to try a waffle. Knowing Gir’s cooking, he will die within the hour. _Maybe that’ll make Zim hurry up._

But it tastes surprisingly edible, and he does not die after an hour passes, so that’s a good sign.  
What isn’t a good sign is that Zim hasn’t shown up yet, and Dib starts to get concerned.

While the pieces of metal and other junk strewn about the place don’t _look_ like anything out of Zim’s PAK, the thought won’t leave Dib’s mind anyway.

He’s just about to get up to attempt to get into the lower levels of the base when Zim rounds a corner, silent as a wraith, and points, mouth agape.

_“What are you doing here.”_

“Waiting for you to show up so we can practice some more?”

Zim looks genuinely confused now, asking “practice what?”

Dib glances at the clock on the wall (the wrong time) before remembering that he brought his phone.

10:30. Dib does _not_ have time for this.

“Dancing, Zim, remember? We were dancing yesterday?”

Recognition lights up Zim’s face and he seems to remember. “The waltz, yes, Zim remembers.”

They stand in the kitchen, facing each other, silent, and Dib gets Deja-Vu (though he can’t for the life of him remember why).

Impatient, he marches over and takes the lead instead, which seems to leave Zim looking sick again, and if Dib catches some alien cold _he is not going to be happy._

Aside from a few missteps on Dib’s part (though he would like to argue that it was on Zim’s part and not his), the dancing is relatively smooth, and Dib is starting to incorporate little spins into the mix as well.

It is during one of these spins, in which both Dib and Zim laugh so hard they feel lightheaded, that Dib’s phone goes off. The alarm. The party. Right.  
Five hours have gone by in a blur of music and laughter, and Dib didn’t even realise he was hungry until now.

So he steals a cold waffle off the table, much to Zim’s chagrin, and leaves (also much to Zim’s chagrin).

He arrives to find Gaz wrestling with a dress that has so many layers he thinks she might drown in it.

“Dib,” she hisses, “Before I go put this on I need to know which way is up.”

“Sorry, Gaz,” he smirks, “ _long. Live. The king._ ”

Ignoring the Lion King reference, Gaz, still trapped in her dress, bellows a war cry. Somewhere a mirror cracks.

One might usually describe Dib as thoroughly lacking in the self preservation department. Dib would agree. He does, however, know when to annoy Gaz and when to help her in fear of his life.  
This is the time for the latter.

So Dib holds his hands out in a placating gesture, despite Gaz not being able to see due to her recent imprisonment, and says “okay, okay, geez, i’ll help, just lemme…”

The dress is near impossible.

He is completely within the parameters of just grabbing scissors and cutting the dress to free his poor sister when he spots a hole.

“Gaz! Gaz I've found one!!”

She sticks her head through it, the first time Dib has seen Gaz’s face since he’s gotten home.  
“I am freed.” Her eyes are black with the rage of a diety that has been trapped mercilessly for centuries.

“Okay, you figure the rest out yourself,” Dib says nervously, glancing at the time on his phone. He speedwalks up the stairs to his room when Gaz’s head starts rotating 360 degrees. He has no time for a temperamental teenager.

He thinks that with satisfaction, knowing that technically he is now an adult, despite the only thing he can cook without burning being dinosaur chicken nuggets.

He makes notes of what to do and what not to do social wise while getting ready to go, and then paces his room, one eye constantly on the clock, while he continues to make notes. He stops his pacing to admire himself in the mirror.

_Zim picked this out well,_ he thinks. _The navy really does bring out my eyes._  
His face flushes an embarrassing shade of red, and Dib thinks he knows why now, but he doesn’t like that reason and will therefore continue to ignore it.

He looks to the clock again. 4:45.

Restless now, Dib hurries down the stairs to make sure that Gaz is ready to go. She is properly in her dress now, with alternating layers of red and black. “You look nice!” Dib says, pushing past his sister to the kitchen to get his third drink of water that hour.

“Thanks. You managed to wear something that doesn’t reference a cryptid…” Gaz wipes away an imaginary tear, and while Dib can’t see it he can _hear_ it. “... I’m so proud.”

He offers a rolling of the eyes in response, and Gaz chuckles.

Hands trembling a little bit, _despite his best efforts,_ Dib pulls out some palm cards. He hands them to Gaz. “Read those out.”

“... The weather is nice tonight. Aw, Dib, c’mon…”

“It is! The perfect temperature for a party. Are you having fun?”

Gaz groans, shoving the palm cards back into Dib’s hands. “If you’re lucky nobody will talk to you. Just stand around the food and kinda…” Gaz says, gesturing to herself vaguely, “emanate a threatening aura. People generally leave you alone.”

Dib genuinely considers this. “Gaz, have you maybe considered the fact that I am a twig? How does a twig seem threatening?”

Gaz groans for the second time, passing a disgruntled hand over her face, and okay, how has she picked that up? Surely Dib doesn’t do it _that_ much…

“Just hang around me, i’ll emanate twice the threatening auras to cover both of us.”

Dib nods. “That will be sufficient, thank you sister.”

This earns him a punch, and before they can beat each other up, the car arrives.

And now Dib has lost both his sister and his father, whom he saw for a grand total of five (5) minutes before he was pulled away by a colleague named John.

Membrane did not look happy about this, trying to pull helplessly from the man’s grasp, only to be dragged away. 

So obviously not liking parties runs in the Membrane family.

Gaz kept her promise after that for a whole fifteen minutes, before her attention was brought to two TVs on which virtual racing tournaments were being held. Not Mario Kart, but it's better than nothing, at least to Gaz. 

He tried to follow, but a crowd had already formed. He lost her to the great sea of people roaming around the fancy room.

_And Gaz is the one who is supposed to be keeping people away,_ Dib thinks miserably, curling further into himself where he is in the corner.

At least thus far only a few people have offered polite greetings, recognising him as Professor Membrane’s son, and it was nothing his palm cards haven’t covered. So, really, he’s gotten lucky.

To the host's credit, the room is _big_. It could comfortably fit 20 voots on top of 20 buses. He’s never seen a room this big, now that he thinks about it.  
He’s also watched enough movies to know to steer clear of the chandelier, in case someone tries to assassinate him.

There are few people who would like to assassinate him, one being Zim. Dib, in his little corner, tries not to think about him. He tries and tries and then when he gets excited seeing a flash of green in the crowd knows this has gotten out of hand.

Except it _actually is_ Zim, Dib realises with wonder. _What is he doing here?_

Regardless, Dib is relieved, as much as he hates himself for it. He no longer feels relieved when he realises that Zim is wearing a bright pink suit and _pulls it off really well._ Heart caught in his throat, Dib can only watch in horror as his doom catches sight of him, narrows his eyes, and makes a beeline for him.

Zim now stands in front of Dib waiting for a reaction and, when that reaction doesn’t come, says “you are acting more dumb than usual.”

Zim is wearing makeup. His face glows.   
“I. You. That pink suits you.”

Zim looks at his suit, seeming to have forgotten what he was wearing. “Uh, yes?” He brightens up suddenly, putting his hands on his hips. “Yes! It does! _Zim looks fabulous.”_

Zim is waiting for Dib to say something, and Dib doesn’t, because _oh my god he looks gorgeous what the hell,_ so they stand there for 3 minutes before Zim snaps his fingers in front of Dib’s eyes.

“ _What_ is _wrong_ with you?!”

Dib, struggling to reel in his horrible emotions, manages to get out “Why are you here?” Successfully ignoring Zim’s damning question. _Another point for Earth,_ he congratulates himself.

“Zim had to check that all those dancing lessons paid off.” He narrows his eyes again, and distantly Dib wonders how that hasn’t made his face wrinkle yet. “Because Zim has seen no dancing yet.”

The sudden outrage he is struck with knocks Dib out of whatever stupor he was previously in. “Are you suggesting that I was lying to get dance lessons out of you?!”

“What else would I be suggesting?”

Dib glowers, and Zim glowers back, and then slow music starts to play.

“ _Alright, grab a partner and head out to the dance floor! Who’s excited for some dancing?_ ” Someone announces over a loudspeaker. Zim looks guiltily down at his feet, and as much as Dib wants to smile because _ha, i’m right,_ he knows that a deadpan look will get the point across much better. If he could get a PhD in banter, he would.

Feeling as if he has now sufficiently gotten his point across, Dib rolls his eyes and holds out his hand.

Zim considers this for a moment, glancing worriedly at the crowd gathering on the dancefloor.

“We’ll just dance here, Space-boy. Too many people over there anyway.”

With that Zim makes up his mind, taking Dib’s hand in his, and then they dance, just like they practiced.

It’s wonderfully familiar, and Dib doesn’t even want to consider how awkward dancing with a complete stranger would have been. So he doesn’t, only focuses on how cool Zim’s hands are, how he can just barely make out the magenta of Zim’s _real_ eyes behind the contacts.

Dib is abruptly hit with a wave of longing, and his chest aches with how much he wants to dance with Zim like they did at his base. Without the wig, without the contacts, so he can look into his eyes and see how the light reflects off them. 

But that probably won’t ever happen, Dib realises with a start, because all of _this_ happened as a coincidental whim and there probably isn’t going to be another moment like this again. 

_Gotta stay in the present,_ Dib thinks to himself, stepping on Zim’s toes.

“All of the time Zim wasted teaching you to dance _and you still step on his toes._ ”

“It’s been once,” Dib says, starting to laugh, “This whole dance!”

Zim starts to laugh too, confused. And then the dance is over and the music stops but they still stand there, in their little corner, laughing to themselves about nothing. 

And then someone puts their hand on Dib’s shoulder saying “My boy child!” And Dib turns to see his father. 

Dib turns again, and he realises with a pang that Zim has disappeared.

“Now that i’ve found you I just need to find Gaz… John started a scientific argument, a very civil one, but we have to go _now._ ” Membrane sounds scared, Dib notes with alarm.

As he is being led away, Dib can distantly hear someone scream “ _Gravity is only a theory!_ ” and then an answering “ _it has been proven, so it must be completely and undoubtedly true!_ ” subsequently followed by an uproar so fierce Dib feels a fraction of his father’s fear.

They do have to find Gaz.

Dib sits on his bedroom floor, now in his pyjamas instead of a fancy suit, deleting and then retyping the same message again.

He decides on _Hey, where’d you go?_ And then bites the bullet, pressing send and then throwing his phone across the room nervously.

He has never been so worried about a text. Or maybe he has and he can’t remember, but that ruins the dramaticness so Dib will stick with _never._

The cheesy alien text tone he has assigned Zim sounds, and Dib now has to look for the phone he so foolishly threw. 

It is under his desk, somehow, even though Dib didn’t throw it in that direction, but whatever. He’s just glad he found it.

_ZIM HAS EVIL SCHEMES TO PLOT STINKY. EVIL. SCHEMES. NO TIME FOR PARTIES._

Dib smirks.

_Whatever evil scheme you have next I'm 100% going to stop you know. I’ve spent my monthly allowance building the perfect weapon!_

Since their truce no actual evil schemes have been schemes, and no actual harm has been done. But Zim and Dib both agreed that one fateful New Year’s Eve, a year and four months ago, now, that it would be more fun to still be _sort of_ enemies.

So Dib pushes down whatever feelings he may be feeling, grabs his new and improved laser gun, and sprints out of the house to stop Zim’s evil robot sheep, or whatever new and harmless contraption he had come up with.

_Everything’s fine,_ he tells himself, _everything’s fine.  
I do not have a crush on Zim._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This fic is the longest finished thing I’ve actually written, and I’m super proud of the fact that I actually finished it!! 
> 
> This part was super fun to write! I love the idea that Zim barely even knows what friendship is, let alone romance, and is just eternally confused by emotions.
> 
> Thank you for reading, stay safe and be well!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Would you look at that, multi chapter AND each chapter is over 1000 words? I’m actually proud of myself, writing longer fics!!
> 
> (If, from reading Dib’s rant about Gef, you are thinking ‘this author knows too much...’ then you are correct! I did actually go on a three hour research investigation way later than I should have a few months ago!)
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you’re safe and well (and if you’re not, I hope your fanfiction reading helps at least a little bit)!!


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